McKinley High Drabbles
by sammayyyyyy
Summary: The characters from Glee doing what they do best.


It's another Monday morning, and like every Monday morning, Noah Puckerman is slumped in the back row of the choir room, wondering why he even bothered coming to school.

Running a hand over his buzzed hair, Puck watches kids slowly file into the classroom. First are Tina and Mike. They stumble in, as if glued together by some magic Asian voodoo, and proceed to collapse into the first row of chairs.

Mike's wearing a plaid shirt and skinny jeans, looking nothing short of an Asian Jonas Brother. Talk about classy. Tina's got on some school-girl outfit that looks so familiar, Puck is suddenly ninety eight percent sure he's seen the same exact one in a Korean porno once.

Mr. Boyband looks over at him, and though he's glaring, Puck still snickers.

Obnoxious? Yessir.

But really, does Mike honestly think that someone as good looking as Puck would lower his standards to check out someone like.. Tina? Though it would be sort of hot to bang an Asian girl, Tina wasn't one of those hot, badass Asians that lived in whorehouses and wore outfits skimpy enough that they couldn't even be considered clothing.

No way.

Tina looked like a second grader, ready to head off to Sunday school with her silver lunch pail and all.

Puck cranes his neck, as if looking for her bible, before flashing her a smirk.

"Hey, Korea. Your eyes look especially blue today."

There was a glare, as expected.

Nothing that Puckster couldn't handle.

"Oh shut up, Puckerman."

"Why? Is Sum Ting Wong?"

Mike's chair scrapes as he pushes himself to his feet, turning around to face Puck, rocking on the balls of his feet, as if ready to duke it out.

Ha. Like the Asian string bean could do any damage. Puck would turn him into chop suey the second he tried.

And then, as if on cue, Finn wanders into the room and flashes everyone his typical idiotic grin, because like always, he has no clue what's going on.

"Hey, guys. What's uh, what's this?"

He gestures to Mike and Puck, who are already leering at each other, ready to jump at the next given opportunity.

Puck wrinkles his nose, before clapping Mike on the back and retreating to his seat in the back corner. Even he has his limits- and 7:29 on a Monday morning is one of them. It's too much effort to sit in this stuffy room for an entire hour without falling asleep, let alone having to walk all the way down to Figgins' office to get in trouble for dishing out some Asian stew.

"Don't sweat it, Finnigan," Puck mutters, slouching down in his chair just enough so that his head rests on the back of it.

"Oh. Right..," Finn mutters, blinking, and being the Einstein he is, he simply scratches his head and takes a seat in the middle of the second row. "Yeah."

Puck rolls his eyes, and for the millionth time this year, he's genuinely concerned for the lack of Finn's intelligence. He's pretty sure it decreases daily, maybe even secondly. Puck watches as Finn starts to count the number of freckles on his arm, before making a mental note that the rate had to be faster than secondly.

Millisecondly, or something.

A few moments later, Britney and Artie enter the classroom, their fingers tangled together, caught up in a conversation seems so utterly retarded, it almost makes Finn look somewhat intelligent.

"Well… what did you do then?"

"Oh, you know. It did smell sort of weird.. but it looked pretty. So I ate it."

Artie nods and mumbles some sort of consolation, but there's no way he knows what the hell she's talking about. Even the "nice guys" have some problems on Monday mornings, and he's a primo example of it.

The two sit in the front row, and as they do, the rest of the gang pours in. Quinn, pulling off her sexy-but-oh-so-mysterious look quite well, enters, followed by Rachel and Mercedes, who must be drunk, because there's no way anyone can be that happy on a Monday morning, and Santana, who looks like she's in the mood to slap a bitch or two.

Puck grins cheekily and knows better than to get in her way, but he can't help himself, and does so anyways.

He pats the seat besides him, inviting her to sit, but instead she shoots him a seething look and snaps, "in your dreams, Vin Diesel," before settling into the opposite end of the row.

Damn.

Puck sinks down in his seat once more, before the dull, meaningless chatter of the room is interrupted by the bell.

He glanced left, no Mr. Schuster. Right? No Mr. Schu.

Hmm.

Puck beams, before leaping to his feet and slinging his backpack over his

shoulder, throwing a hand up in the air questioningly.

"Yo, morons. Mr. Schu's not coming Why the hell are you still sitting here? Let's blow this popsicle stand."

He's halfway across the classroom, iPod in hand, before the protests begin.

"I, for one, think that's an awful idea. He's going to come later, just you wait, and

you're going to get a cut," none other than Rachel Berry whines, folding her arms across her chest, "And besides. You don't _have_ to be here, it's your choice, Noah."

If Rachel weren't a fellow Jew, Puck was pretty sure he would have gone ape-shit on the goody-two-shoe, but because she was, he could only be mildly pissed off at her.

Puck frowns.

"Anyways… anyone who's _not_ a complete pussy," he shoots a look at Rachel, "Should come with. Unless you want to be sitting here, wasting your time, sitting on your asses while you do absolutely nothing."

Quinn, who is seated next to Captain Idiot, raises her eyebrows.

"Because listening to you is such a good idea," she muses sarcastically, in her usual hot, steamy voice. That, okay, is a little bit nasally, but mostly hot and steamy.

Puck makes an incredulous face, shooting back a "no one was asking you, Paris Hilton."

He looks over at Finn, sort of curious to see what her other half would say, but he's too busy looking around the room, as if Mr. Schu was hiding behind the piano, to be focused on the diss Puck had just dished out to his girl.

Figures.

"Whatever, losers," Puck turns to make his way to the door, before Sam Evans enters, his signature look of cluelessness plastered across his face.

"Uh, guys. Hey. I was just talking to Figgins, and he said that he's sending a sub in, because Schuster-"

By then, Puck is half way out the door, and by the time Sam finished explaining Mr. Schuster's predicament, he's already in the courtyard, passed out sleeping on one of the stone benches.


End file.
